


Among the Stars

by birdienz



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Character Death, TDC fix it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17263922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdienz/pseuds/birdienz
Summary: Thomas watched Newt die. Or he thought he did, until he woke up and realized it was all a nightmare. Luckily, dreams don’t come true.But as the weeks begin to blur together and Thomas finds himself struggling get a grasp on reality, he begins to wonder if it perhaps wasn’t just a simple dream. And if so, then maybe, just maybe, there would be a way to change the future.





	Among the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tasteofdreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofdreams/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, Dreams! Thanks so much for organizing a lovely Secret Santa, I hope you enjoy this fic! (ps. this was v quickly proofread, so apologies for any (ie many) mistakes.)

 

The knife was stuck firmly in boy's chest opposite him, a very small amount of blood beginning to seep out from the edges. Horror filled his body at the realization of what had just happened, but as much as he wanted to help, he found himself paralyzed, stuck to the spot.

He watched as Newt went limp, the last signs of life leaving his body. He reached out to grab him, trying to stop him from falling but was too late. He could only look on in shock as Newt's body continued falling, fading away into a black abyss, and there was nothing he could do to save him. He wanted to reach out after him, to scream out his name, but no words came.

"Hey, hey, hey, Tommy, Thomas! Hey, it's all right, it's all right."

Thomas jolted upright, gulping down air as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Newt, I..”

“Hey, it’s ok. I’m here.”

He felt winded, and despite knowing it was just a dream he couldn't quite shake the numbness of what had happened.  “Newt. You’re here. You’re really here. I thought… I was scared something had happened.”

“Tommy. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need to worry about me.” Newt’s words were reassuring, but they weren’t enough – deep in the back of his mind, Thomas knew he did need to worry.

“Hey, let’s go outside, yeah? Get some air?” Yeah, Thomas thought, but he couldn’t find the words. Newt helped him up, and together they made their way towards the beach, the warmth from Newt’s arm slung around his shoulders helping rid his body of the numbness.

They moved ahead to the large rock, where they had often spent many mornings watching as the sun crept over the horizon and across the clear sea.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Newt asked tentatively, his brows furrowed in a mix of worry and confusion. What Thomas had said probably made no sense to him; it made little to himself.

“You died, Newt. You were dead.” An unsteady wobble appeared in his voice. “I tried. I tried to save you but I was too late. We were all too late,” he continued, his voice breaking ever so slightly. Coughing, he hoped Newt hadn’t picked up on it. “It’s a little blurry, but it was just the two of us. It happened so fast. There was a knife. I don’t know, I don’t know,” he trailed off, letting his words float out towards the sea. The shadows cast from the surrounding trees were dark, twisting their way out towards the beach. Like the veins which crawled across Newt’s skin, black and pulsing, sending newt into a frenzy. He could remember feeling his hand around Newt’s knife, and Newt’s hand. He wasn’t sure who’d done it though, that part was the truth.

“Did I do something? I’m so sorry Tommy, you know you don’t have to be scared of me.” Newt placed his hand tentatively on his shoulder, reassuring him. “Did anything else happen?”

“I don’t know, Newt. It’s already fading.”

"That's probably for the best then. Go on, yeah? Let's get some sleep. Big supply runs tomorrow and you know Vince will want you alert."

“Thanks, Newt” he replied as he got to his feet, leaving Newt sitting at the rock.

As Thomas walked back to the camp, he felt a pang of guilt in his chest -he hated lying to Newt, but he didn't want him to worry. Truth be told, he himself wanted to pretend as it had never happened. But the problem was that the dream wasn't fading at all; it still burned in his mind, the details sharp as day and as he got back into his hammock and closed his eyes, he could see Newt staring back at him, the light leaving his eyes before falling to the ground. He needed to stop thinking about it but he couldn't The images kept playing over and over in his head, and it didn't take long until Thomas once again felt paralyzed by fear.

Breathe in… breathe out.

If he could just get his breathing under control, focus on that, then maybe the pull of sleep would be strong enough to drag him back under, and he could forget all about Newt dying.

Breathe in.. breathe out.

Breathe in.. breathe out.

Breathe in…

“Hey, hey Tommy, you good there, mate?” Newt had turned to face him, a questioning look forming on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, I think so. Yeah, sorry to interrupt, carry on,” he replied, his voice coming out croaky; he didn’t feel ok. That strange feeling had returned – the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

He was standing in the old warehouse they used for planning. Maps lined the walls, various bits of string connecting different segments to one another. The table in front of him covered in other maps – some hand-drawn, some printed – the in fading and the paper curling at the edges. Around him – Jorge, Brenda, Fry, Vince, and Newt. They had been midway through discussing train routes when Thomas had seemingly dozed off and returned quickly. Thomas knew he hadn't dozed off – despite all the long days and sleepless nights, he had never been one to nap. He was so certain that he hadn't been asleep, yet he had the strangest sensation; the sensation that he had just woken up. Which he knew was not possible, after all, he was standing amongst his friends halfway through a conversation. Something wasn’t quite right…

_The dream_.

It taunted him, chasing away the good thoughts and leaving him waking with a silent scream. He hadn't had it since that first night with Newt, but now it was ever so present at the front of his mind. Had he been daydreaming? It had felt so _real_. It took a moment for him to put the pieces together in his mind, but he knew it was the _exact_ same dream – well nightmare – that he had that same night with Newt. Newt had died, and Thomas had been too late to save him.  But this time, there had been something different; the details were a little clearer, inside his dream, everything seemed a little sharper. But there was something else that bothered Thomas, something that was making him question his sanity. The dream had felt so real, so incredibly real. Standing across the table from Newt and the others – that too felt real. But different. The past few weeks, he could remember, the memories a little foggy although he had been blaming that on sleep deprivation.  Now, he wasn't so sure. They'd happened, those weeks, for sure, but he couldn't remember living them. He knew he had, _surely_ , but it unsettled him.

Briefly, the thought of him having contracted the flare crossed his mind. Perhaps this was the first stages of insanity – not being able to distinguish reality from fiction; not knowing when he was awake, and when he was dreaming. But that was ridiculous – the chances of him having gotten sick were so slim, made impossible by him being immune. He just needed to calm down, relax, probably get some more sleep. Sleep deprivation. That would be it.

“Tommy, what’s going on?” Everyone else had started to file out of the room, leaving just the two of them. The smell of musty books and damp wood was so strong, and Thomas knew that this, right here, with Newt, was real. This couldn’t be made up. 

“Nothing. It’s nothing Newt, I’m fine.” A lie.

“Look, it’s ok, we’re all feeling it too. There’s a lot on the line, for everyone involved. But we’re gonna get him back.”

“Yeah, sure.” He knew he didn’t sound particularly optimistic, and Newt had picked up on it.

“Tommy, are you sure you’re ok? You don’t..”

“I said I’m fine!” Thomas hadn't meant to lash out, but right now he just wanted to be left alone. He hated lying to Newt, yet it felt necessary. What he had been feeling, if he said that out loud, well, it didn't take a genius to know how that would sound. He and Newt had been through a lot together, but even so, he wasn't sure Newt would believe him. No, who was he kidding? Of course, Newt would believe him, and that's what he was afraid of. What he was going through was messy, and he didn't want to drag Newt into it. Newt had so much going on, yet he had always looked out for everyone else around him, making sure everyone else was okay even if he himself wasn't. But Minho being captured had taken a toll on him, perhaps more than anyone. Thomas had noticed the sadness deep within his eyes even as he smiled, how he had started to laugh less, becoming more closed off. They were just kids, forced to fight in a war without truly knowing what they were fighting for. A cure? Freedom? Peace?  Were they fighting to survive among the Cranks, or fighting to escape from WCKD? They didn't want this, they hadn't asked for it. It seemed so unfair, but it was the only choice they had if they wanted to survive.

Too many thoughts, emotions, feelings, too much to process, too much going on. Thomas felt like he couldn’t breathe, everything piling up, the stress of it all a weight pushing down on his chest, suffocating him. So many images flashing through his mind, Newt dying, Newt alive, Thomas being too late. Minho. Gally.

Gally?

Teresa. Berg. Newt dying. The knife, deep in his chest, the light leaving Newt’s eyes.  Too much, too much.

“Thomas, if you know something you can tell me!”

“No, Newt! You just don’t get it! You wouldn’t believe me anyway. No one would.”

“Is this about those dreams again? I know you’re still having them, Tommy. I know you have hardly been sleeping, and when you do you wake up each time with a start. Tommy, please. You can trust me.”

“Newt I… I can’t. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that I don’t trust myself.”

"Please, Thomas." Thomas ran his hands through his hair, weighing up the options. With the dreams becoming more vivid, so had Newt's death. He could remember the details so clearly now – after all, it was the nightmare he'd been living every time he closed his eyes. He didn't want to tell Newt; to paint that image in his head, but the guilt, the fear, it was eating him up alive. What if a part of it was real, what if it did happen? What if, for some twisted reason, this was Newt's fate, and Thomas could help stop that? Was that even possible?

"You die, Newt! Every. Damn. Time. You die, and I'm there. Right in front of me, and there's nothing that I can do. Every time, it's like I'm stuck watching." He stopped, choking back a sob. "I keep losing you."  
  
He’d seen Newt die. He could still see the crazed look in Newt's eyes as he wildly swung the knife around, moving at an alarming speed towards Thomas. All Thomas had wanted to do was stop it, to stop Newt. He'd wanted Newt to live. All it had taken was one small misstep - he wasn't sure if he'd tripped on the over or over himself, but as he stumbled towards his friend, he reaches to grab onto the closest thing to him. He wasn't sure if it had been the momentum from his fall, or if Newt had been mid-swing and the knife had ended up pointing in that direction, but either way, it didn't change the outcome. He'd felt the cool handle of the knife as it plunged into Newt chest, the feeling of horror rising through his body as he looked down to see what had happened.

  
He saw how, despite everything, this was the first time Newt hadn't looked pain for so long. He seemed to relax slightly, like he had accepted his fate.

  
He heard Newt's faint ‘Tommy' - he sounded so peaceful, perhaps in those final moments, Newt had been himself again.   
  
He watched the light leave his eyes.  
  
Then he would wake up. 

"Hey, it's ok. Thomas, hey, look at me." He'd expected Newt to look scared or worried after what Thomas had just told him, after all hearing someone describe one's death in a dream in vivid detail wasn't considered to be particularly relaxing, but the look on Newt's face said something else. He was sad. Of what, Thomas wasn't sure. But the twinkle that had shone in his eyes was a little less bright, and although he could tell that Newt was trying to be brave, a slight quiver of his bottom lip gave away his true feelings. "Thomas, here," he said, grabbing his hand, and putting it on his own chest. Although faint, and somewhat fast, Thomas could feel the heartbeat. "Feel that? I'm still here, okay? I'm alive, and right now that's what matters." He wasn't sure why he'd just let Newt take his hand; it was unlike either of them to be this open with one another, yet he didn't want to let go. Neither of them said anything for a moment; they didn't need to. Eyes locked with one another, the intimacy they shared with simply a look was enough to make all the problems in the world melt away, and Thomas felt safe, if only for a minute.

Struggling to form words, Thomas nodded.

“Hey, come on, let’s go sit somewhere which isn’t in this dusty old shed. Get away from everything here.”

“Yeah.”

They slowly made their way to the beach, working their way through the decaying old pier where their escape boat was anchored and found a quiet spot to sit, hidden from the rest of the Base Camp. They sat there together, leaning on one another support, watching as the sun disappeared below the horizon and the purple and pink hues which had painted the evening sky gave way to deep blues and black as the moon began to shine in the sky, far away.

As the first stars began to twinkle through the darkness blanketing the sky around them, and Thomas wondered if perhaps he was just overthinking it all. Being here with Newt, he felt so safe, so perhaps his dreams were simply showing him what he was most afraid of; losing Newt. He didn’t want to ever consider that to be an option. He would rather die than for those dreams to turn into a reality.

Slowly, the tiredness took over his body, but this time he wasn’t afraid to succumb to his dreams. They were, after all, only dreams.

“Tommy?”  The sudden interruption brought Thomas sharply back to reality. “What the bloody hell is going on with you? You’ve been like this for months, please, just tell me what’s going on. Tommy, please,” Newt begged, the slightest hints of desperation slipping into his voice. Which was strange, considering Thomas had just snapped at him barely a minute ago.

But as he turned around, taking in his surroundings, he realized that they were no longer together on the rock. They were - well, Thomas wasn't quite sure about where they were or how on earth he had ended up there.

“Newt, uh, where are we?”  He tried to play it cool, but the lapse in memory had sufficiently freaked him out enough that he no longer wanted to pretend that everything was ok.

"We're, um," Newt seemed perplexed by Thomas' question, wondering why he would ask such a thing. “We've just finished setting up for the train heist tomorrow." That made sense. The dry, almost desert landscape stretched out for miles in front of him, the barren landscape a somber reminder of how desolate the world had become. Newt continued, " Do you.. have no recollection of this? You've been here with us the whole time."

"Yeah, right. I remember." Which, in fact, he did. Turning around, he stared up at the jagged mountains towering over them – although they shone a brilliant amber in the setting light, the sharp rocks and steep drops served a reminder of despite seemingly pleasant, were just as dangerous. Nestled deep in a small gully between, was the train track. Surprisingly, not rusty, despite years out in the Solar Flares. No doubt WCKD had something to do with that.  This was all so familiar – too familiar, he thought. In less than 12 hours, they would attempt to rescue Minho from the WCKD train transporting Minho elsewhere. But they were going to fail. They didn't know that yet, but for some reason, Thomas was certain they would.

"Newt, I want to tell you, I do, really. But.." He paused, searching for the right words, the correct phrasing that wouldn't make him sound like he was losing the plot. "I'm not sure you would believe me. It sounds crazy, and, I don't want to lose you because of it."

"Thomas, listen. No matter what, I won't see you any differently. You are, and will always be, the same Thomas I," Newt stopped abruptly, mid-sentence, and Thomas felt himself take in a sharp breath. Whatever Newt had been about to say, well, it had left him flustered, and Newt didn't get flustered. "You will always be the same Thomas I met back in the Glade, the person I would follow anywhere." Thomas was certain that wasn't what Newt had been about to say, but nevertheless, he appreciated the meaning of his words. Thomas felt the same about Newt.

“Ok. Remember, that night I had that dream, the dream that you…” His words caught in his throat.

“The dream where I died?” Newt finished off the sentence for him, and Thomas was glad he didn’t have to be the one to say it.

"Yeah, that. I've been having them again. They're so vivid, Newt, they've been becoming clearer and clearer. And it's not just you dying. There have been flashes of other bits and pieces, and I've been trying to put them together, but it's been like trying to solve a jigsaw with no edges. Nothing fits, nothing makes sense. Except for the ending. You. That never changes."

“Thomas, you know it’s just a dream, right? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Newt reached for his hand, and Thomas let him take it. The first time Newt had done so, he’d been scared of how vulnerable it had made him feel. But he now welcomed that feeling – trying to be strong for those around him was exhausting and it was nice to let his guard down.

"We're not going to rescue Minho tomorrow," He blurted out, unable to keep it in any longer. A look of disbelief flashed across Newt's face, his mood changing abruptly.

“What?”

"Look, I know it sounds like I'm just being pessimistic, but in the weird dreams I've been having, we don't rescue Minho. We take the wrong container, and he's not in it. I know, I know it sounds crazy."

Newt was shaking his head. “You’re right. It does. But I still want to believe you. I’m trying to, anyway.”

“There’s uh, something else.” He finally said, sliding his hand out of Newts. “This will sound crazy, but I have the strangest feeling that someone is alive”

“Well yes, Tommy, there are still people here who are actually alive. Myself included.”

"No, no, Newt, that's not what I mean. It's just that... I feel like Gally is still alive."

“What? How? How do you know this?”

"I don't. I just, he was in my dreams and, well somehow I am certain that Gally survived.”

Newt shook his head in disbelief, clearly not believing a word Thomas was saying. Although he knew how crazy it sounded, he has till hoped Newt would believe him. "Tommy, listen. You gotta give me more than ‘a feeling' Do you have proof? **”**

"No, it was merely flashes of a dream perhaps. It's hard to explain really. But…" The more he was saying, the less Newt seemed to believe him; he was desperately trying to fix the situation, but like trying to pick up sand, it just kept slipping through his fingers until he lost it all. “You know what, never mind. I probably just need more sleep. It’s nothing. Really. The dreams will go.’

“Tommy..” Newt’s voice trailed after him as he turned to walk away, heart pounding in his chest.  “Thomas, wait. Do you think it’s maybe to do with guilt?  I know that we’ve never really talked about it before…”

“Talked about what?”

"Chuck." A surge of sadness welled up in his chest, his legs feeling weak. "After Chuck died, it was straight to the WCKD facility in the scorch, and then the escape, and there's been so much happening. And after Minho was taken, I know that's been all we've talked about, and you've never had the chance to grieve Chuck. None of us have." Thomas sat down; despite the sun having disappeared behind the mountains, the dirt had retained the heat and he found himself rather enjoying the ground.  

“Perhaps, you’re seeing Gally because you never had the chance to accept what happened that day. And maybe a part of you wishes that Gally was still alive, so you could try to heal that wound. Or you wish he was  alive because that would mean, in a way, the events that day weren’t real, therefore Chuck never died.” Thomas had to admit that Newt was making a very compelling argument. "Look, we just gotta get Minho back. This time tomorrow, we'll all hopefully be together, and we can finally start to move on... make our way to the Safe Haven, start a new life. We can find a lace we belong." 

"Yeah, that's probably it." It was logical, sure, but that small nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right was still there.

"Hey, we're gonna get through this, yeah, Tommy? Together, You and me, we're gonna make it. We made it through the maze, we made it through the scorch. What's a little train heist, right?"

“Right, yeah. Thanks, Newt.”

It was in that moment, waiting on the ground as the last of the light disappeared, that Thomas realized something else. Something that he had, since day one, been trying to run from. It made things tricky, and messy, and right now he needed neither of those in his life. But with everything else to worry about, he could at least start to accept the truth.

He liked Newt.

He'd liked him since day one, from the moment the tall, slim boy had greeted him with such a charming smile. But over time, as their friendship developed, he'd started to really like him. They understood one another – their strengths, their weaknesses. Thomas found himself less afraid when he was with Newt, he found it easier to laugh, to open up. With Newt, he was more himself that he could ever be around anyone else. He didn't need to be the strong leader that so many people were depending on. He didn't need to be fearless. He could just be Thomas.

 

***

 

"How?" Newt asked as they rode together in the bumpy old car, the rusting side plates holding the door together squeaking loudly on the tiniest of potholes.  They’d snuck away late that night, Fry, Newt, and himself, to try and rescue Minho. Minho. They hadn't saved him, after all those months of planning. They'd taken the wrong container. Frypan had long fallen asleep and Newt had climbed into the front passenger while Thomas drove.  "How'd you know?"

"Know what?" He'd been wondering when this was going to come up and had been really hoping that Newt would've either forgotten or was too focused on everything else to mention it. Apparently not.

"You said, yesterday, that we were going to grab the wrong container. That you'd dreamed it. How? How is that possible. Surely it's not possible." That last part wasn't so much directed at Thomas as it was Newt speaking his thoughts to himself. Truthfully, Thomas had no idea it was possible – he wasn't sure it even was.

“I don’t know, Newt. Honestly, I have no idea.” The statement, although true, didn’t do much to satisfy the questions Thomas knew they both had.

"Yeah, perhaps," Newt replied, rubbing his arm gently and Thomas wondered if he'd injured himself in the train heist.

“I was probably just thinking worst-case scenario. For everything. For the train heist, seeing Gally, you.” He could sense Newt’s head turning ever so slightly to face him, but Thomas kept his eyes firmly focused on the road in front of him.

“Yeah, exactly. But hey, if something else happens from your dreams, you tell me, yeah? We’ll get through this, whatever _this_ is. Together.”

A strange warmth started to spread through Thomas’ chest, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Together.”

“Now, how about I drive for a bit, and you get some sleep. You look exhausted, and whatever tomorrow brings, we’ll need to be as alert as we can be.” Now that he mentioned it, Thomas did feel strangely tired.

They pulled over, and quickly changed seats. Although they were out in the middle of nowhere, there was no way to predict whether or not there would be any cranks out, and that was the last thing that they needed right now. Gazing out the window as the scenery rushed past, blurring together, Thomas wondered if it really all had been just a coincidence. That was the most logical answer, but it didn’t feel like the right one.

 

He wasn't sure if he slept that night or any of the nights following. He remembered facing the cranks in the tunnel and feeling afraid, but he couldn't remember actually being afraid. Despite the reassurance Newt had offered that night, it wasn't enough to keep the doubts from creeping back into his thoughts, haunting him during the day and keeping him up at night. Everything started to blur together again, the tunnel, the view of the Last City, the wall, and it wasn't until now, as he stood to face a masked figure, that he felt truly awake again.

 

Thomas watched as the person opposite him removed the gas mask. Even before it was off, he knew what was coming. His heart pounded loudly, every inch of his skin tingling in anticipation. It was real. It was all real.

The helmet came off. The hair was different – shorter, more contained. The person had changed – for a moment a familiar feeling of fear filled Thomas' body, but that was quickly replaced with anger. There was no mistaking the person who stood in front of him.

Gally was there. Gally was real.

It was all real.


End file.
